


would it be a sin?

by ToAStranger



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fuck you Elvis, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 11:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: if I can't help falling in love with you?





	would it be a sin?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lymricks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lymricks/gifts).



> My babe lymricks said I should put this on AO3, so here we are.

“Jesus, Harrington. The fuck do you have this ancient shit laying around for?”

Steve peeks around the corner from the kitchen, frowning as Billy slides the record from its sleeve, and he shrugs when Billy looks up at him. “My mom loves Elvis.”

Snorting, Billy turns away, lifts the needle on the record player and sets the record into place. He flips the switch that gets it turning and carefully sets the needle.

There’s a rush of static as it drags. Then, the faint thrum of guitar and the soft beat of drums fills the room. Elvis croons, soft and slow, and Billy grins over his shoulder at Steve.

He’s beautiful, Steve thinks, standing there in the half light of dusk – reds and pinks and oranges pouring in gold through the windows, the sun sinking down below the horizon outside. Steve’s throat works and his fingers clench around the corner of the wall where he’s leaning. Where he’s watching.

_’–only fools rush in. But I can’t help falling in love with you.’_

Billy sways, head tilting back and listing a bit back and forth, like he’s getting a feel for the music. “It’s not bad. Sappy as shit, but not bad.”

Steve clears his throat, face coloring. “Yeah, sappy as shit.” He says and then ducks back into the kitchen, the song following after him, as he makes his way over to the stove where he’s got dinner simmering.

He’s stirring the pot, trying not to think too hard about Billy standing in his livingroom, about Billy with his shirt still unbuttoned from the heat before that had them spilling over onto the couch in their rush to touch, to taste, to feel. Tries not to think about Billy’s mouth on his or the way it makes Steve brainless, like a living nerve, heart beating only long enough for Billy to touch him again.

He’s frowning down at the stew, and then Billy is there, pressing against his back, plastering himself against Steve, hands sliding down from Steve’s shoulders, to his arms, to his wrists, to his hands. He’s still swaying, humming soft and low, nose tucking behind Steve’s ear.

“Take my hand,” he half sings, half mumbles, threading his fingers between Steve’s, shuffling steps bringing Steve away from the stove. “Take my whole life, too.”

Steve closes his eyes, breathes slow, his jaw clenching. “Billy –”

“For I can’t help,” Billy whispers, arms wrapping around him, pressing Steve’s own hands to his chest, to his stomach, Billy’s chin resting on his shoulder. “Falling in love with you.”

“Don’t,” Steve whispers, begs, pleads.

“Dance with me, Steve.”

He pushes, spinning Steve out, and Steve gives Billy a dirty glare. His socked feet slide against the tile, and he’s helpless against the pull of Billy’s hand in his as he’s dragged back close.

Billy rests a hand at Steve’s hip, clutches at Steve’s hand, their fingers a lazy tangle. He sways, and pressed flush to his chest, Steve sways too. Steve grips Billy’s shoulder, words dying at the back of his mouth, destroyed by Billy’s smile. By the lines creasing around his eyes.

Billy’s still humming, leaning in, pressing their foreheads together. Steve can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t think beyond _Billy_.

“Dinner’ll be ruined,” he mutters, breath uneasy, voice wavering.

“I don’t care about dinner,” Billy says. “I didn’t come here for dinner.”

Steve’s fingers clench in the fabric of Billy’s shirt, around Billy’s hand. “What did you come here for?”

“You,” Billy says, and then he’s kissing the corner of Steve’s mouth, his chin, his cheek.

Steve shudders, eyes falling shut, and he leans into the warmth of Billy’s embrace. “ _Billy_ ,” he says again, tries again, to stop him from crossing the point of no return.

“Shut up, pretty boy.” Billy says, hand sliding around from his hip to the small of his back, pressing in closer, and Steve’s body sings.

_‘Take my hand. Take my whole life, too. For I can’t help falling in love with you.’_


End file.
